


Writing on the Walls

by SinpaiCasanova



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aneurisym, Doctor/Patient, Forbidden Love, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TADDYBEAR!, Health Issues, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Short Story, Sign Language, Speech Disorders, acquaintance to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinpaiCasanova/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: When a strange illness renders Jameson Jackson unresponsive on his kitchen floor, the doctors of Mercy hospital are desperate to figure out what's wrong with him. The normally exuberant Irishman is left unable to speak, and one Doctor, in particular, takes an interest in his curious case. But things become complicated when the line between doctor and patient is blurred, putting everything at risk for Dr. Marcus Iplier.





	1. What's wrong?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enterthetadpole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/gifts).



"Jay, are you awake?" A soft voice called out, rousing a pair of light blue eyes to blink open. The bright morning sun seeped in through the open curtains, nearly blinding him as he tried and failed to adjust to the abrupt change in lighting. 

"I am now," he grumbled, rolling over onto his side and away from the human alarm clock that never let him sleep in on a Saturday. "Must you insist on waking me as soon as the damn sun comes up, Marvin? It's six in the morning for fuck's sake."

Marvin rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Jameson was never a morning person, but his recent bout of intense migraines have made him a  little on the ill-tempered side lately. He knew that Jameson wasn't normally this way. He was always the one that found the silver-lining when it came to life's misfortunes, but it's pretty difficult to see the positive aspects of life when you're constantly assaulted by your own senses.

"You know what the doctor said, Jay. You need to keep your pain under control until he can see you in the office. I'm only keeping true to my word."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Ma would be proud. God rest her soul," Jameson mumbled, heaving an exhausted sigh as he turned back to face his younger brother. "It's just that sleep is the only time I'm not in constant agony. As soon as my eyes open, the pain comes back."

"Which is exactly why you need to take your medication. I'm only trying to help, deartháir."

Jameson sighed, sitting up a little better as Marvin handed him his pills and a glass of water. They didn't help all that much, but it made the day a little more manageable when he wasn't doubled over in agony. These migraines are alarmingly different than the ones he grew up with. He's always been sensitive to light and sound, often triggering a splitting headache that would last a few hours. But these feel like someone sawed open his head and filled it full of razor blades, then shook it for good measure. He could hardly function since they showed up over two weeks ago, but Jameson just chalked it up to stress from his job and tried to push through until he literally couldn't anymore. Marvin was actually the one to suggest that he see a neurologist, and Jameson was reluctant to agree. It would be months until an opening popped up for Dr. Schneeplestein, but he was the only one that was covered by his insurance. So far, the pills he prescribed took the edge off, but the pain was getting worse and nothing seemed to help.

Jameson made a face as he swallowed the pills down, sipping on his water to try to wash the taste out of his mouth.

"These pills taste like ass," he complained, and Marvin snickered.

"And you would know what that tastes like because...?"

"It's a euphemism, dumbass. Although, I'm quite sure your new boyfriend knows what yours tastes like."

Marvin's mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to process that little remark. Sometimes Jameson knew a bit too much about him, which was slightly concerning when you considered the context.

"How-?"

"You two aren't as subtle as you think you are. These walls are paper thin, and I hear everything..unfortunately." Jameson grimaced, recalling the last time Marvin had his lover stay the night. He can still hear those strange mewls when he closed his eyes, along with a few other unsavory sounds he wished he could forget.

Marvin's cheeks flared, embarrassment staining his face a rosy hue as he averted his eyes from Jameson's knowing stare.

"Please don't say anything to Andrew about this. I know it's only been a few months, but I think he might be the one, Jay. And I just don't want anything to spoil it." Marvin ashamedly murmured, and Jameson suddenly felt awful for bringing it up. He was only teasing, but Marvin truly felt something strong for that odd boy with green hair. And despite his lack of insight when it came to their relationship, he could see that Andrew made Marvin happy, and that's all he could ever hope for. Jameson hasn't exactly been all that fortunate when it came to love. His last relationship was over a year ago and ended when his boyfriend, Wil, decided that Jameson wasn't what he wanted anymore.

Yes, it hurt, but Jameson saw their break-up as a chance to start something new with someone else. Although, someone new never actually came around.

Jameson smiled sympathetically, placing his hand on Marvin's shoulder to grab his attention.

"Hey, you know I'm only teasing. I would never say anything to Andrew that could potentially break you two apart. If he makes you happy, then I'm happy."

Mavin returned his brother's sweet smile,  standing to his feet and giving the brunette a chaste kiss on the top of his head.

"You really are the better twin you know. Always a few minutes older and wiser than I will ever be."

Jameson sighed, chuckling as he watched Marvin leave. He wanted to spend a few more hours in bed, sleeping through the pain before he eventually had to get up and shower for work, but the pain in his head had already begun to throb like an infected tooth, and now he was forced to stay awake whether he liked it or not.

The brunette reluctantly slid from his bed, hissing in pain at the sudden shift in his posture. He shuffled towards the kitchen, hoping that a cup of peppermint tea would help him enough until the next dose of medication was due.

He set the kettle on the lit burner, leaning against the counter when the pain began to affect his vision. The room was distorted and fuzzy, and Jameson began to feel a lot weaker than usual. It was like his muscles were made of jelly, barely able to support his body weight as he swayed against the counter. This was different. Very different. Something was wrong, and Jameson began to panic when his legs suddenly gave out from under him, sending him straight to the tile floor below.

"M-ma-!" He tried to call out, hoping that Marvin hadn't left the house just yet, but his tongue refused to move. The pain in his skull doubled, and each desperate cry for his brother became quieter and weaker until nothing at all could be heard. Jameson's heart was skipping, racing erratically as his vision blackened. He was terrified and alone, collapsed on the kitchen floor with no one around to help him. The tea kettle began to whistle, the sound piercing Jameson's ears and causing him to silently cry. It was the last sound he heard before it all went dark, and the pain finally stopped.


	2. Unresponsive

Marvin was already climbing into his car when he suddenly remembered that his wallet was still sitting on the kitchen counter. He's been so preoccupied with Jameson lately that the simple things tended to slip his mind. If he hurried he might beat the early morning traffic, but that was wishful thinking. He'd be at least ten minutes late again, which wasn't that big of a deal when he was his own boss.

The silver-haired man stepped back onto the driveway, leaving his car door open while he ran inside the house to grab what he needed. He could hear the shrill whistling of the tea kettle as soon as he opened the door, and he frowned when he didn't see Jameson snuggled up in a fuzzy blanket on the couch while he waited for the water to heat up. In fact, he didn't see Jameson at all, which was odd. His brother wasn't a morning person, but once he was awake, he was up for the rest of the day. Naps were a rarity, but if he was going to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep then he would normally curl up on the couch for that.

Marvin began to feel uneasy, standing in the doorway of their shared home like he was afraid to even move. That twin instinct isn't a crock of shit like so many seem to think, and Marvin had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong with Jameson. It settled into the pit of his gut, twisting into a thick sense of dread that felt like a brick of stone. 

"Jay?" He called out, glancing around the open space of the living room one more time, hoping that his brother would answer and everything would be fine. But the only sound that greeted him was the continuous screech of the tea kettle. Marvin couldn't hear the rush of water from the shower or the playful melody of Benny Goodman that flowed from the record player. Jameson never made it that far. His journey stopped the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

"Jameson?!" Marvin called out again, this time with a heavy feeling of desperation. His feet moved swiftly through the living room, abruptly stopping once he reached the kitchen. His eyes darted from the screaming kettle on the stove to the body lying on the floor. Marvin felt his heart stop dead in his chest, and the ever-present feeling of dread was all consuming.

"Oh my God, Jay!" He shrieked, rushing to his brother's side quickly. "Fuck! Can you hear me? Jameson, please!" 

The stove was promptly turned off, letting the silence settle in the house like a thick blanket of snow. Jameson wasn't moving, was barely breathing, and honestly didn't look like he would make it if Marvin didn't get him help immediately. The silver-haired man pulled out his phone, trembling fingers hitting the emergency call button when his passcode wouldn't work. The entire time he was talking to Jameson, begging him to open his eyes or move, or really anything to show that he would be okay.  His pleas were met with silence of course, and Marvin began to panic as he dialed 911. He didn't dare move his brother, remembering something he heard on a medical show one time. If Jameson fell he could have sustained a spinal injury, and moving him could either make the damage worse or actually kill him. It felt like an eternity before dispatch answered, greeting him with the normal " _911, what's the address of your emergency?_ "

"1031 Turquoise drive," Marvin rushed out, unsure of what he should be doing with himself. Jameson could be dying right in front of him and he was wasting time talking to this woman on the damn phone. He could hear the clacking of the keyboard on the other line, praying that an ambulance was driving around the block somehow. He couldn't lose him. Marvin would never recover if he let Jameson slip away.

"What is your emergency, sir?" The dispatcher asked, loudly typing as a police scanner chattered in the background.

"I found my brother on the floor. I think he might be dead. Please, please hurry. You have to send someone, now!"

"EMS are en route, sir. Is he breathing?"

Marvin glanced over his brother's limp body, just faintly detecting a slight rise and fall without a steady rhythm.

"Y-yes, ma'am. He's breathing but just barely. Please, I-I don't want to lose him."

"Is he able to respond to you, open his eyes, or move at all?" She asked, and Marvin felt like tearing his hair out. He wasn't a damn doctor. He just needed the fucking ambulance to get here as soon as they possibly could. He tried to call out to Jameson again, breaking down into heavy sobs when he was answered with silence.

"N-No. I don't think so. I don't really know how to help him, I work at a music store for fuck's sake, I'm not qualified for this!"

"Sir, you need to calm down. We're doing all that we can to help your brother, okay? I just need you to stay as calm as you can until the ambulance arrives."

Marvin felt like laughing, finding that request to be utterly ridiculous. What was he supposed to do, just sit there and watch his twin die on their kitchen floor? He wanted to snap at her and tell her that she wasn't in fact " _helping_ ", but his reply was cut off by the sound of a siren blaring down the street.

"Oh, thank fuck, they're here." He sighed, glancing down to make sure that Jameson was still breathing, because what else could he really do? The phone call with dispatch was quickly ended as the paramedics rushed in. Marvin stepped back as they worked on Jameson, establishing that he was actually alive, but just barely. They asked him questions as they prepped Jameson for transport, and Marvin tried his best to answer what he could. He followed them out into the driveway, blankly watching as they loaded his brother into the back.

"Call Mercy and have them page Dr.Iplier." He heard one say to the other, along with the words stroke and brain damage. They were gone just as quickly as they came, and Marvin was left standing in his drive-way, numbly staring as the ambulance sped off down the road.  
  



	3. Alert

The soft mechanical beeping of the heart monitor next to his bed was the first thing he was able to hear. It was slightly muffled, mixing into the incoherent voices of shadows that stood by the foot of his bed. His head was throbbing, but it wasn't as intense as it had been lately. The pulsing behind his eyes made it a bit difficult to focus, altering his vision into a mess of fuzzy images that didn't make much sense to him at the moment. He groaned, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut once again. It was incredibly hard to move, and Jameson thought that maybe he was tied to something to keep his limbs still. But the distinct lack of anything binding his wrists and ankles quickly dismissed that theory.

The voices in the room became quiet, and Jameson cracked open his eyes to see why the noise had stopped. From what he could make out, there were two people standing on either side of him, staring down with an unreadable expression. He could only see the color of their eyes and the shading of their skin as his vision struggled to relay what he was actually seeing to his swollen brain. It terrified him to think that something might have happened to cause this, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything unusual happening that morning.

"Ah, you're awake, Jameson," the tanned shadow said, and Jameson frowned when he didn't recognize the baritone voice that flowed from his blurry mouth. Had they met before? He couldn't remember. "How are you feeling?"

"You scared the shite out of us, deartháir. I thought you'd never wake up." The pale blur of silver and blue interjected, and Jameson felt relieved when he instantly recalled that it was Marvin speaking to him. His brother's hand grabbed his own, careful to avoid the tapped down IV line protruding from his skin, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Jameson tried to squeeze back, but his fingers merely twitched against Marvin's.

It startled him, and Jameson began to panic when he could barely move at all.

"What's going on? Why can't I move?" he said, but what came out of his mouth was anything but coherent. It was a jumbled mess of garbled speech that resembled a baby babbling, and Jameson felt his heart drop into his stomach. The tanned shadow to his left shinned a light into his eyes, and the mechanical beeping to the right of him spiked, setting off a few alarms that caused for concern.

"Jameson, I need you to try and calm down, alright? We need to keep your blood pressure down as much as we can."

"What the fuck is going on?! What happened to me?!" Jameson tried to say, and he felt tears rolling down his cheeks when all that he able to produce was meaningless sounds. His head was pounding, chest burning as he began to hyperventilate. What was happening? Why couldn't he move or speak? This had to be a nightmare. One of those hyper-realistic night terrors that you can't wake up from. But that didn't stop Jameson from trying.

"Wake up, Goddamnit it! Please, wake up!" He sobbed, just now realizing that he was crying. Marvin was trying his best to soothe him, telling him that everything would be alright. But it wasn't. What was he supposed to do when he couldn't even speak? What kind of life would that even be?

The blur to his left was calling for help, and Jameson could faintly make out what appeared to be the shape of a woman suddenly standing next to him.

"1mg of lorazepam, Signe." He said, and the woman turned to grab something off of a nearby cart. Her hands touched his, and warmth soon spread through his veins, circling his head and muffling his thoughts. The beeping of the heart monitor began to slow, and Jameson found himself drifting off. He tried to fight it though, keeping his heavy eyes open despite the rising fatigue that slowly consumed his lead-like body.

"Is he going to be okay, Doctor? Why can't he speak?" Marvin asked, his grip on Jameson's hand tightening.

"We'll know more after a few tests. But it appears to be a stroke that's causing his aphasia."

"A stroke?" Marvin squeaked, "He's twenty-eight years old! How in the hell did he have a fucking stroke?!"

"Please try to understand that strokes can happen to anyone, regardless of their age. Based on what you told us, it could have been caused by any number of things."

"He smoked occasionally whenever he was stressed, but it was never more than one or two a week."

"It doesn't matter, Mr. Mcloughlin. One cigarette significantly raises the risk and seeing how you stated that his stress levels had increased lately, that could have been the trigger that caused this to happen. But, like I said, we'll know more after a few tests. As far as his speech and muscle weakness goes, those can hopefully be reversed with therapy."

The two continued to talk like Jameson wasn't even there, and it angered him that he was being discussed like some kind of terminal case. Therapy and tests? When the fuck did he end up in the hospital? That's where he was, right? His ability to put the pieces of the puzzle together was significantly impaired, and Jameson hadn't yet realized that he was falling back into unconsciousness. He had so many questions he needed to have answered. How long has he been here? If what this doctor was saying was indeed true, then it must have been days since he first arrived. The idea that he'd suffered a stroke at the young age of twenty-eight was the most terrifying thing he could ever experience at this moment, and he just wanted to wake up in his own bed the next morning and have everything be okay again. He was far too young to go through something like this, and he wanted to scream out in frustration that this wasn't fucking fair.

The lights and sounds that made up this horrifyingly frightening reality began to dull until he couldn't hear or see a thing at all. The beeping of the monitor calmed as he relaxed, falling into a deep sleep that promised him a better reality.

 

 


	4. Dr.Iplier

When his eyes opened again, he was surprised to be able to see a little better. His vision was still a bit cloudy around the edges, but Jameson was able to make out the cracks in the drop-down ceiling above his head and the dim lights that illuminated his otherwise dark hospital room. The ache in his head was nearly gone, but his eyes were rather sensitive to even the faintest amount of light. It was like his pupils were dilated despite the change in lighting. But what truly astonished him, was the fact that he was now able to weakly lift his hand up to shield his face from the source of irritation.

Jameson felt his heart stutter in shock, which reflected in the mechanical beeping on the heart monitor to his left. Was he really able to move again? Jameson tried to wiggle his toes, which felt stiff and slightly swollen, but regardless, he was able to feel his toes twitch under the sheets. The corners of his dry lips curled up in a lazy smile as he shifted slightly, getting a feel for using his limbs once again. His muscles were still a bit weak, but hopefully that could improve over time.

Then a thought occurred to him. If he was able to move, then maybe he was able to speak as well. It was worth a shot, even though he couldn't swallow properly without wincing from how dry and irritated his throat was. There were tubes and wires covering the majority of his exposed skin, and the oxygen flowing into his nose was doing nothing to help the growing problem. But he had to try.

Jameson opened his dry mouth, chapped lips cracking and jaw aching as he moved his heavy tongue around to try and 'wet his whistle'. He felt gross, like he hadn't brushed his teeth in god knows how long. How many days had he been lying here exactly? It could have been weeks for all he knew, and his body definitely reflected that. From his greasy and unkempt hair to his sweat-slicked skin that gave off a particularly unpleasant odor, Jameson could tell that it had been quite a while since he'd been awake. Or at least it felt that way to him.

"Hh-aa-," he choked out, attempting to call out a simple hello to grab someone's attention. He needed to get out of this bed and into a shower as soon as humanly possible, but the sound was so weak and broken that it was hardly there at all. Jameson frowned but thought that his throat might be too irritated to produce proper sound. So he tried again, giving the noise that popped out of his mouth as much oomph as he possibly could. But yet again, the word fell flat on the tip of his tongue. That familiar babbling that frightened him once before was still there, but his voice was even quieter, like a whisper in the wind. It was there, but virtually indistinguishable from the breeze of the air conditioning unit by the window. 

He could feel himself begin to panic once again, his eyes watering as the sound from his mouth became quieter with each vain attempt. His heart rate spiked, setting off the alarm that would notify the nurses of his mounting anxiety. And just like before, a woman with a syringe rushed into the room, and Jameson began to thrash once he recognized what it was. 

 _"No, please! I don't want to sleep anymore! Where's Marvin? Marvin, help!!"_ He tried to say, and even though his voice was silent, the emotion was clearly visible on his face.

"Hold on, Signe. Let's try something else first to get him to calm down." Came that familiar baritone voice from before, and Jameson's eyes darted towards the door to see a man in teal scrubs standing there. He barely noticed that someone else was in the room with them, but damn he was happy that someone put a stop to that barbiturate pushing nurse.

The man walked into the room, briefly glancing over the chart in his hand before turning his full attention to Jameson, whose eyes were as wide as saucers once he was able to clearly see this man's face. The nurse had stepped away from his IV line, thank God, but now he had a completely new set of problems on his hands. 

"Mr.Mcloughlin, can you understand me?" The man calmly asked, and Jameson hesitated for a second before he remembered how to nod his head. Of all the people he could have received as his attending, why in the fuck was this George Clooney knock off standing by his bed?

"Good. Very good. Now, I want you to try and relax. Deep breaths, alright?" 

Jameson couldn't help but want to follow his instructions, breathing in deeply before slowly exhaling. The scent of cologne that lightly radiated from this gorgeous medicine man was intoxicating, and Jameson couldn't believe how sour his luck really was. He was trapped in his uncomfortably small bed after some sort of brain injury, and he looked and smelled like sickness. There was a slight pull against his leg when he moved to sit up a little more, and Jameson froze when he noticed the clear tubing that ran out from under his bed sheets. Mother of God, there was a fucking catheter in his dick. How embarrassing. 

"Great job, Jameson," he praised with a warm smile, and Jameson felt his heart constrict, which unluckily for him, showed up on the monitor next to him. But thankfully the man didn't seem to notice.

"I'd like you to pick one object in clear sight and consciously note everything about it possible. It could be the clock on the wall or the pattern of the ceiling,"

" _Or how gorgeous your face is..._ " Jameson thought, picking the one thing that seemed to fully capture his attention. Although, he made it appear as if he were looking at something just beyond the man he assumed was his doctor's head. He noted the tan coloring of his skin, blending into the slightly purple bags under his chocolate tinted eyes. His black hair was messily styled with a slightly wet look to it, like he'd showered in the past half hour, and his strong jawline was lightly covered in stubble, which looked pretty damn good on him. Jameson couldn't grow a proper beard, which is why he stuck to goatees and mustache wax to make it look like he had a sense of style.

His mind consumed itself with how utterly perfect this man was, and before he knew it, the anxiety attack had stopped. 

"Oh thank God, you're awake." 

The frantic voice of his twin was quick to snap him out of his trance, blue eyes flickering over to see Marvin at the foot of his bed. When the hell did he get here?

"How is he, Dr.Iplier? The nurse called me and said he was having another episode."

"He was," the doctor answered, "but I think we may have found something to help him power through them."


End file.
